So, Rufius is running a book scam with Turk – that explains why Turk didn’t come after me sooner. Rufius is the reason Turk’s come up in the world. This brothel’s just a sexy front for the real money-spinner. Rufius relaxes back on the couch as if he’s just popped in for a blowjob. Fatty sits snivelling next to him. He might be a cry-baby but Fatty’s got guts.
The blade’s getting hotter, tip close to my skin. One slice and I’m scarred for life. My gut, my heart, everything thuds: fear’s loud on the inside. Rufius will kill Turk if he cuts me.
And Croc was right about not trusting Rufius. It’s one rule for me, and another for him. He tells me not to steal books, but he’s got a whole frigging operation going on. If I get out of here alive, I’m bloody well pinching Kiya’s book back.
‘Turk, my dear, let us put our differences to one side. As my adopted son, Aeson is my property; if you hurt Aeson, you hurt me. And I know you do not wish to hurt me, for that would hurt our business relationship. Let’s renegotiate terms that will be mutually beneficial over a glass of wine.’
Rufius sips the wine and raise a kohl-painted eyebrow. He’s nervous, but no one except me can see it. What an actor.
Turk lets go of my hair. Thought he was going to have my scalp off before Rufius arrived, I did. He lowers the knife and plunges the hot blade in a jug of wine. It sizzles like fat on a spit. Thank Serapis!
Turk leans over me, and hisses in my ear. ‘Honey-daddy won’t be around forever, Pretty.’ Then slaps my back.
‘Druid, pour Aeson Biblus Catamitus ’ere a glass of our finest vintage.’
Druid! His skin’s blue there’s so much ink on it now. The last time I saw the tattooed Briton was over two years ago, the night we robbed the warehouse. Druid looks sheepish as he passes me the fancy glass. He mutters something in his own language and looks over at Turk, top lip curled into a snarl.
‘No hard feelings, Aeson?’
You need the protection of a gang when you’re a street kid. I shake my head and gulp the wine. Still in shock, I am.
Turk puts on his most magnanimous smile and sits down next to Rufius. Relaxed, like old friends; they’re peas in a pod, those two, the way their minds work, the way they put money first.
Rufius smiles back. ‘Lower your weapons, men.’
Biblos slaves replace daggers in scabbards, guards lower their swords, but stay put, hands on hilts. Apollinos won’t take any chances.
‘Druid, bring Rufius here a taster of our Desert Honey.’
Druid’s blue-patterned back disappears behind a wooden screen.
‘What strange barbarian religion does he belong to with all that scribble on his back?’
‘He’s a Druid, from Britain.’
‘Oh, I’ve never seen one. Do they paint their cocks too?’
Druid comes out again with a wooden box. He looks Rufius in the eye. ‘The Honeypot caters for all tastes, mister.’
Rufius recoils. Druid’s patterned face would give me the creeps if I didn’t know him. So Druid is Turk’s right hand man now Lanky’s gone. Reckon we’ve all seen the last of Lanky… thanks to Kiya.
Turk takes a couple of small glass pots from the box, mixes a dry, whitish paste from one with what looks like honey from the other with a spoon in a little dish, and passes it to Rufius.
‘A symbol of our partnership, eh, Rufius.’
Apollinos steps forward. ‘Master, no.’
‘Taste it, Apollinos.’
‘Master, it might be poison.’
‘I doubt it very much. Turk dear, do you have any idea of the value of this hairy Greek slave?’
‘More than I can afford.’ His chin juts. ‘The honey’s to sweeten it. Tastes bitter but the effect is mellow. It might even relax those veins on his neck.’
‘Ha! Yes, Apollinos gets awfully stressed, don’t you, dear?’
Apollinos takes the spoon, looks at it, then at Rufius.
‘Go ahead, dear. If it kills you, Turk’s not the businessman I thought he was.’
Apollinos sucks the honey off the spoon and swallows. His dark eyes are sad. So this is how Rufius treats his lovers when they’re too old. Thank Serapis he signed those adoption papers!
Apollinos plonks himself down on the couch between Fatty and Rufius as if he just fancied sitting down. Rufius laughs as the slave’s jaw relaxes. Apollinos laughs too. It’s not like he’s drunk. He’s not swaying or anything. He’s forgotten he can’t sit until he’s ordered to.
Apollinos drops the spoon and stares at it like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
‘Well, what’s it like?’
‘I’ve never felt so… so free.’
‘He might puke, but the nausea passes.’
Turk mixes himself a spoonful then passes it to Rufius.
‘Eh, pass it round, we’re celebrating Aeson’s new status.’ He looks at me as if to say, I’ll have my revenge, but I can wait. ‘Druid, mix up enough Desert Honey for everyone, eh!’
This stuff’s good. Every muscle in my body was tense. Now I’m all soft and relaxed. Fatty’s giggling away to himself.
Turk plays the host as if it’s a normal night on Venus Street and we’re customers. ‘More wine, Druid, eh, for our guests.’
I should want to kill Turk, but I don’t. We’re enemies, that’s for sure, but right now I couldn’t muster a curse let alone punch anyone. It’s like the god of war has taken a holiday and Eros took his place.
‘Yes, dear, and wrap some of that Desert… what is it you call it?’ Rufius has scoffed more than any of us. It doesn’t slur your speech like wine, but it makes your memory dark, and now and then I see things, things I know aren’t real. Like I thought I saw Dera standing in the doorway, but when I blinked and looked again he was gone.
‘Desert Honey.’
‘Ingenious! Your descriptive faculties are positively poetic, Turk dear!’ Rufius isn’t being sarcastic. This stuff makes you positive for no reason at all.
Fatty passes me another spoonful. Apollinos leans over the couch from his position behind me. ‘That’s enough, Aeson.’
Apollinos doesn’t trust Turk. Biblos guards are stationed at the edges of the room. They seem out of place in this happy haze.
‘No more for me, Fatty. Thanks for getting Rufius.’
His chubby cheeks blush.
‘Turk won’t cause you any more trouble now he knows my dad’s the magistrate.’
Fatty’s stutter’s gone. Must be the effect of the Desert Honey.
‘Turk’s not defeated. He’s just biding his time.’ Patience, that’s what sets Turk apart from the rest of them. Patience and planning.